


cry baby

by astxrwar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astxrwar/pseuds/astxrwar
Summary: Tony hadn't needed him-- not badly enough to call, anyway-- but Tony wasn't the only one Steve had left behind. The girl--(Name)-- she must have missed him as fiercely as Tony did, but she didn't have his series of frankly intolerable neuroses and wasn't, apparently, stubborn enough to never speak to him again.[OR: Steve leaves both you and Tony. Even when he comes back, things aren't quite the same. CA:CW snapshot.]





	cry baby

"If you need us-- if you need _me_ ," Steve had said, words trembling, _hesitating,_ "I'll be there."

And Tony-- Tony hadn't needed him, hadn't _missed_ him, had shoved that shitty little drug-dealer-esque cheap-as-fuck burner phone as deep as it would go into the top drawer of his bedside table and had resolutely promised to forget that it existed. He ignores, at night, how his fingers would itch towards his nightstand. Sometimes he would feel his absence like it was a hole inside of him, like something large and definitely _important_ had been ripped right out of his chest. He pretends this does not happen.

It unfolds like this.

Tony hadn't needed him-- not badly enough to call, anyway-- but Tony wasn't the only one Steve had left behind. The girl--(Name)-- she must have missed him as fiercely as Tony did, but she didn't have his series of frankly intolerable neuroses and wasn't, apparently, stubborn enough to never speak to him again.

They compromise.

When Steve cracks the door to the bedroom Tony can hear--see-- _feel_ the way his breath leaves his body, imagines the other man's exhale is punched out of him, imagines that it must _hurt_ a little bit. He steps into the room, out of the white-washed fluorescent light from the hallway and into the dim and the heat of the room, the door shutting behind him with a quiet snick of insulation against the flawless mahogany floor.

Tony wants to say something snarky and vaguely hurtful, but he doesn't. He just-- he forces himself to focus on the girl in his lap, the warmth of her skin underneath his trembling fingers. He has her sitting facing Steve, her back pressed up against Tony's chest and his fingers digging just gently into her thighs where he's holding them open, where his cock is pressed up inside of her-- and he imagines she must look so fucking good like this, imagines Steve's mouth must be going just the slightest bit dry at the sight of her. He can see the way Steve's eyes are drawn to the two of them, can see the soft part of his lips as he drags his gaze down her body, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, and there's heat suffusing its way into his cheeks and his neck and Tony wants to-- he wants to kiss it. He wants to press his mouth into the blush and he wants to _bite_ where it's spreading down his neck and he wants--

He wants, suddenly, so many things.

"I missed you," Steve whispers, voice shot-through and hoarse-- he's looking at the girl, and not at Tony, and there's probably something important about that distinction, but Tony doesn't want to pay any mind to that right now. She shifts under his scorching gaze and the friction is delicious, fuck, he's been waiting for this for what seems like forever and he's so hard it almost _hurts._

She opens her mouth to respond and Tony takes that moment to rock up into her, just enough that whatever she's going to say dissolves and disintegrates and comes out as a breathless, broken moan.

"Nice to see you, too," Tony says dryly, voice unsteady, digging his fingers into the girl's open thighs, spreading them wider, feeling some amount of vindication at the way she gasps and how her head tips back against his shoulder and how she whispers his name, like it's a plea or a prayer or something holy. Steve's eyes haven't left the two of them, have been flitting between their faces and down to where their bodies are joined, and Tony thinks he must be desperate, wonders if maybe a part of him misses them as much as they did. As much as they _still_ do.

"Stark--" his voice is _wrecked,_ then, as he takes the last few steps towards where they're sitting on the very edge of the bed, expression dark and riddled with longing and want and a kind of desperation Tony never thought he'd see from the likes of Captain America. "Jesus fucking Christ-- _Tony_."

"Sorry," he drawls, forcing as much sarcasm as he can into the words, even as his voice trembles with the effort it's taking to hold himself still. She's so tight around his cock that it feels like a goddamn _vise_ and more than anything he wants to actually fuck her, wants to stop playing games, but the look on Steve's face is worth the wait. "We got started without you."

Steve closes the last remaining space between them, then, reaches out a hand to _touch_ as her fingers lock like a vise around his wrist--he cups her face and tilts it up, moves down across her neck and her collarbones and her breasts, down and down and _down,_ and when his fingers brush over her clit she clenches around him so tightly that Tony can't manage to stifle his answering groan _,_ the sound shot-through and embarrassingly desperate.

"Steve," she whines, other hand searching for purchase and finding Tony's, squeezing _hard._

"Yeah?" Steve whispers back; and he's talking to her but he's looking at Tony, his stare _scorching_ , and he has to fight the full-body desire to shiver.

"I missed you," he says, again, and then louder: "I missed you both."

Tony's breath comes out shaky, and so does hers, dissolving into a whine at his next stroke and at the mercy of Steve's still-roving fingers. He starts to fuck her for real, _hard,_ ignoring the part of him that tells him he's making it a competition, trying to drown out the pleasure Steve's giving her, trying to make her belong to him a little bit more, even though he knows it doesn't work like that.

"Stark," Steve says, "Let me--"

"Wait your _turn,"_ he all but snarls, biting down on the curve of the girl's shoulder to stifle the groan that rises somewhere in his throat. She whines at the feeling, and Tony runs a hand down her side, whispers something sweet and useless against the crook of her neck-- _relax, sweetheart, I'm gonna take care of you, don't worry._ Steve's still watching, has one hand on the girl's shoulder and one cupping her face, tilting her head up--he's not arguing with Tony, isn't trying to take control, which is odd and which definitely won't last, so he figures he might as well enjoy it.

"Stop-- stop fucking around, Tony," she says, raking her nails up his arm, not really hard enough to _hurt_ but definitely enough to sting, leaving little pink lines against his skin, the sting sharp and bright and _hot_ and the corresponding rush of warmth to somewhere in his abdomen making his cock twitch inside of her.

What can he say-- he's pretty obviously a fucking masochist.

Tony clicks his tongue, the noise sharp and abrupt in the slow, slick silence of the bedroom. "Somebody's in a mood," he quips, acutely aware of Steve's burning stare as he forces himself to stop moving, body going still and slack, fingers drumming an arrhythmic pattern against the inside of her thigh. It's like the warmth of her is seeping into him, at every point where their bodies are in contact, and it's a feeling he thinks he could probably get drunk off of. "Pretty sure an apology is in order, sweetheart, or I'm just going to sit here."

"Sorry," she says, almost immediately, rocking back against him, a soft keening whine rising somewhere in the back of her throat at the loss of friction, acutely aware of the size of him inside of her, the ache and the burn and the _stretch_ of his cock-- "Sorry, sorry-- fuck, please, Tony, c'mon--"

Steve raises an eyebrow, expression surprised. Before-- _before_ \-- she probably would have told him to go fuck himself, but things had changed and _she_ had changed and Steve hadn't been around for any of it, not in the way that Tony was.

He rolls his hips-- slowly, languorously-- and relishes in the silky sound of her answering sigh as she rocks back against the thrust. Steve's eyes move from his, to hers, to where their bodies are joined and where his cock is splitting her open, expression openly hungry.

"I want you to watch Steve, baby," Tony whispers, mouth pressing little butterfly kisses against the side of her neck, her shiver so strong that it feels like it had originated in his own body, feels like they're inseparable, two parts of the same whole. "Look at him. Can you do that?"

"Fuck, Stark," Steve bites out, still watching, eyes dark and pupils blown out so far that there's only a thin ring of blue-green around deep, endless black. Tony makes sure to move slow, and Steve's eyes are drawn helplessly to the slick slide of his cock pushing into her, all the way down to the base--

"Steve,' she whispers, the sound choked-out and desperate, and his hand cups her cheek, then, thumb tracing the outline of her lips as his fingers press into her mouth-- her tongue laves over them, hot and slick, and Tony has to bite back another groan at the sight of her, bright and alive in some deeper way that he hasn't seen in days--weeks-- _months,_ moaning around the fingers in her mouth as he fucks her, the sound of skin on skin arresting and filthy in the surrounding silence.

"You look so fucking good." Steve's voice when he responds is rough, pretense _gone,_ his other hand shamelessly palming over the bulge of his cock in his pants as he watches them both.

Tony presses his mouth to the shell of her ear, bites at her earlobe a little harder than necessary and _relishes_ at the whine she chokes out, sound muffled around Steve's fingers-- and he's looking at her like she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, open and vulnerable and needy in front of him, and Tony thinks with whatever actual brain-power he has left that Steve's probably right. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and probably the most beautiful thing he will _ever_ see, at least in this lifetime, and he's honestly okay with that.

Steve uses his free hand to pop open the button of his jeans and hastily shove them down to his knees; his fingers are out of the girl's mouth, now, digits slick and wet, and he wraps his hand around his cock, eyes fluttering shut and perfect mouth falling open at the contact.

"Look at _that_ , sweetheart," Tony says, eyes darting up to Steve and then back down again, to the girl as she leans back against him, trying to touch as much of her bare skin as he can. He has one hand on her hip, digging in almost hard enough to leave bruises, the other around her thigh, pressing it open and hitching it over his own, spreading her legs wide enough that the stretch, he thinks, must _ache._ "Doesn't he look good?"

There's a pause of silence, and Tony imagines that she must be looking up at him with those big eyes and that pretty little pout, dragging it out before she says in a voice that's sly and deceptively small, "Yeah."

Steve groans, the sound shot-through and brittle, betraying his own tremulous hold on his patience. Tony wonders how much it's going to take to get him to break, to give up and give _in,_ finds the thought of it has molten heat pooling low in his abdomen like a slow-burning fire or like lava--

"Take your shirt off, Cap," he teases, flashing a breathless and insincere smirk that twitches and threatens to dissolve as the girl grinds back against him, the sudden pleasure sparking up and nearly eclipsing any ability for rational thought ."Give us a show."

"Stop fucking around," he says, annoyed, but he still yanks his shirt up and off with that one-hand-over-the-back _thing_ that Tony used to think was stupid and annoying and completely contrived, but in this scenario is decidedly-- not.

"I don't know," Tony mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck, feeling the way her pulse thrums and hammers under his mouth. "You up for it, sweetheart? I'm not so sure that--"

" _Yes,_ " she says, cutting him off, "Tony, please--"

"Stark," Steve growls, and he drowns the two of them out completely, rough and harsh with a voice like gravel or sandpaper, so gritty it's almost _mean._

Tony pauses for a second, looks at him, rakes a too-hot gaze up the ridges of his abdomen and the planes of his chest and says, "Yeah, okay," so softly that for a second he's not sure that Steve can even hear him.

He eases her up and pulls back and she _whines_ at the loss but doesn't really even have time to make sense of it before Steve is filling the gap, lifting her up and into his arms and positioning her on the bed. Tony fumbles in the bedside table for lube and a condom; his hands are uncoordinated and he's not really watching what he's doing, more preoccupied with the scene unfolding in front of him-- Steve's hands on her body, large and hot and touching her everywhere, Steve's mouth as it slants over hers, the kiss hungry and needy and _desperate_ in a way that Tony could both recognize and understand.

Tony watches as he yanks her hips towards the end of the bed, takes a moment to rub his cock against her, to feel how wet she is-- how wet Tony had made her-- hear her keen and rock into him and practically _beg_ for it, and he waits a handful of entirely too maddening seconds before finally pushing in with one long, steady thrust.

"Fuck," he says, the word choked-off like it had been ripped straight out of his chest, electrifying and provocative and _filthy._

He starts to move and she whines, drags her nails down his arms, pulls him closer to her. Steve fucks her harder than Tony had-- and she likes it like that, he knows, but he could never bring himself to it, not the way that Steve can, he has a strength to him that Tony can't match-- he fucks her slow and rough like he's going to _break_ her, mouth at her neck and his teeth digging in hard enough to leave marks, his hands on her waist with fingers all but meeting in the middle.

"Steve," Tony says, and the other man looks up at him and he feels something lurch and tug at his gut at the sudden intensity of it.

He pauses, then, shifts her up so that Tony can take the space behind her, her body fitting neatly and easily and _perfectly_ between theirs, and starts to work her open with his fingers, first-- it's been a while, so he's _gentle,_ careful, matches his movements to the slower roll of Steve's hips as he moves.

"Hurry _up,"_ she whines, rocking back against Tony's hand and then forward into Steve, her needy little gasp at the feeling drowned out by Steve's answering chuckle, warm and soft.

"Somebody's impatient," he mumbles, mouth against her neck, "Better hurry, Tony."

There's a teasing edge to his words that Tony hasn't heard in so long-- in _too_ long -- and this, the sight of them, the completeness, this is what Tony missed. In the dark and the heat and the humid air of the bedroom, Iron Man and Captain America don't exist, there's nothing but the three of them, human and whole, and it's--

It's exactly how it should be.

When Tony presses into her she sighs, clutches Steve's forearms like he's a lifeline, an anchor, steady and unmoving even as she trembles against him and against Tony where their bodies are touching. He can feel Steve as he talks, feel the rumble of his voice as it echoes through her and into him, reverberates somewhere in his chest.

"You're okay, baby, you're so fucking good for us--"

Her muscles tense down around him and around Steve and he thinks for a second that the two of them-- they might be more the same than they are different in that moment, and the thought is terrifying and soothing and _crazy_ , all at once. They will never be like this anywhere else, at any other point in time-- the fighting and the arguing and the constant fucking disagreements stop for a split second when she's between them and he wants, so desperately, to hold onto this for as long as it lasts.

"Steve," Tony says, plaintive and a little bit desperate, and the other man must know what he's thinking, because he kisses the words into him before he can decide what else he was going to say.

He starts to move, then, and Tony can _feel_ it, the pressure of Steve's cock inside of her, and he rocks into the feeling, drags his hand down the girl's side and digs his fingers into her hip, looking for purchase. Steve's tongue curls through his mouth, commanding and aggressive (god, what a surprise) and Tony kisses him back just as hard, bites down on his bottom lip and devours the sound that it drags up from him, something base and carnal that makes his pulse jump and tremble and stutter--

"Steve," she says, then, rocking forward into him and then back into Tony and tipping her head back, mouth open in a desperate, breathless moan.

Steve stops kissing him, then, releases a sound that's shaky and harsh and not quite a groan, but close.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Tony asks, mouth at her neck again-- and, god, the tightness of her is almost too much, the world fading out and going all sinuous and blurry in the heat of the bedroom, like a camera lens unfocusing until all he can see clearly is her and Steve and where the three of them are connected, everything else in the background dissolving into white noise. She's trembling in between their bodies, fucked-out and overstimulated, and it really only takes a few seconds of Steve's fingers at her clit and Tony's mouth at her ear, whispering praise and sweet nothings against her skin to make her cum, clenching hard around the both of them, a gasp torn from the back of her throat so violently it almost sounds like a sob.

"Tony," she whispers, head tipping back against his shoulder, angling herself so that she can kiss his cheek and his forehead, and he clutches her to him as he moves, lifts her hips so that he can pull out and push back into her in one long, steady thrust that has her trembling against him. Steve's watching the two of them like he's intruding on something private, and Tony reaches out to find his hand, squeezes it just once, reminds him that he has a place here-- in this, with them--

"Fuck," he gasps out-- Steve's pace has picked up and the friction is perfect and too much and _maddening,_ makes him feel like every nerve in his body is on fire, like he's hurtling towards the edge of some cliff, maybe, a precipice, hanging on the edge of something intense and impossible. He's close, and he knows Steve must be, too, can see it in the tenseness of his jaw and the beading of sweat at his temple, the way his mouth falls open when the girl runs her hand down his side and urges him closer.

Steve has one hand on Tony's thigh, blunt-cut edges of his nails digging into him hard enough that it _hurts,_ and Tony forces himself to focus on that, letting the pressure bordering on _pain_ of it anchor him to reality. He has his hand on her clit again and the pleasure he thinks must be too much, the soft sounds she's making against Steve's shoulder are desperate and overstimulated and he can't get enough of them-- of this--

Tony's own orgasm is wrenched from him so violently he thinks for a second that he might be seeing stars, chokes out a groan and slurs out her name, first, and then Steve's, and it's the sound of the other man's name in his mouth that finally gets to him.

Steve finishes last, with a gasp and a shudder and a shallow, shaky breath. In the silence, Tony can hear and distinguish between their breathing-- his, shaky and fast. Hers, softer, slower, and Steve's, heavy and exhausted. It blends together, as his heartbeat slows, until he can't tell whose is whose.

"Need to shower," Steve mumbles, mouth pressed against the girl's temple.

"Yeah," Tony says, and in the sudden coldness of the bedroom he wonders how Steve is going to treat him. Wonders if the unspoken truce has suddenly dissolved.

Steve gives him a small, uncertain smile. Tony relaxes. A small sad part of him knows this is only a temporary fix. A band-aid, plastered over some deeper, darker wound. The last time they had done this, Steve had asked in the morning why Tony couldn't let her go with him. Had said that she would be happier on the right side of history.

Tony had told him that she's all he has and it had been the truth, and the flicker of understanding in Steve's eyes, he remembers, had made his heart ache.

He tries not to think about that. They're here now. That's all that matters. Steve is looking at him, expectant. Right-- the shower.

"Yeah," he says, again. The muscles in his arms and his thighs are still jumping. He's exhausted and sated and satisfied in a way that he hasn't been in a long time, and he chooses to focus on that while it lasts. "Shower sounds good."


End file.
